


Fractals

by IDG



Category: Disney - Fandom, Meet the Robinsons
Genre: F/M, Gen, Giant work in progress......, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDG/pseuds/IDG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pattern of blinks in time, dotted across the multiverse, ask us just what it means for the Robinsons to live happily ever after. [formerly "Vignettes" ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'And you know how hard it is for a teenager to get adopted...'
> 
> Rated T+ (This one might run on the sensitive side for some.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: this chapter was originally transcribed via iPhone and now that I have a computer, I went back in to fix my typos. (Also what was I thinking with that trademark joke? (also ao3 formatting is a literal nightmare???))

 

2003

 

He sat at the steps that afternoon like he always did. The day was ending, the Earth's axis titled just so at this hour to reflect the prettiest orange hues from the sun. It was Lewis' favourite time of day, the after-school hours when Oliver would get home.

‘Lewis, get back inside.’ Mildred leaned out the door with an annoyed look on her face.

‘But I'm waiting for Oliver. He said he'd bring me something from the junkyard.'

'Well, get in line. I'm waiting for him too. One of his teachers just called.'

'Is he in trouble?'

'He's... Lewis just get in and help set the table.'

'But—'

'Now, mister.'

'Alright, fine...'

Lewis shuffled inside, walked past the two volunteers at the kitchen entrance and grabbed a handful of utensils. He made his way around the table, setting on each place a knife and fork. 'Table's set!' he yelled.

Mildred still standing by the doorway, was looking out to the street as she said: 'Good now go watch TV 'till dinner's ready.'

'Why can't I just wait outside?'

'Because I told you so.'

'But TV's sooo boring! Aiden hogs the remote and he only ever wants to watch the Antiques' Road Show.'

'Mmmhmm...'

'Fiiiiine.' Lewis crossed back over into the living room, prepared to plop himself on the couch when he noticed Rose cutting vegetables on the kitchen counter. He sat at the stool in front of her.

She looked up from the cutting board to greet him, 'What's up little man?'

'Mildred won't let me wait for Oliver outside.'

'Well dinner’s almost ready.'

‘Yeah I know, I set the table. Sort of. What're we having?’

'Margaret's famous chicken noodle soup.... That she bought at the store. Here, can you put the peas on the table?'

Behind Rose, Margaret was by the stove, she waved to him. He waved back. She was a nice enough old lady, but Lewis tended to like the younger volunteers better. They didn't yell as much when he took stuff apart and were more likely to answer his questions. Especially Rose. She was Lewis' favourite volunteer so far because she'd take the kids out on field trips to the zoo and the ice cream place. She once spent a whole day with Lewis looking at a warehouse sale on car parts that he couldn't afford.

The meagre bowl of microwaved peas set on the table, Lewis sat back down at the counter. 'Hey Rose?'

'Yeah?' she said sliding the vegetables off the board with the knife and into a pot.

'D'you know what's up with Oliver? All he ever does now is mope around his room playing loud music.'

She filled the pot over the sink and placed it over the hot stovetop. 'I guess he's just been in a bad mood lately.'

'Yeah but it's not lately, it's all the time. I counted 78 days in total he's stayed in bed until three p.m. this last year, sometimes on weekdays. And then even on days where he wakes before three, he's never home before seven. And he's late today.'

Rinsing the knife and cutting board in the sink, she said, 'You kept track of all that? Wow.'

'Is he ok? He's missed a lot of school. Is that legal? He's not dying or anything?'

'You really care about him, don't you?'

'Yeah. He's my friend. Plus, he's the oldest, coolest one here.'

She turned off the sink, set down the dishes and leaned in closer to Lewis. She clicked her tongue, choosing her words carefully, slowly in a way that really tested Lewis’ patience. 'That's just the thing. He's the oldest here and he's almost turning eighteen.'

'So? Isn't that a good thing? He'll be able to vote next year.'

'Lewis. If I tell you what's wrong, you have to promise not to tell anyone or make a big deal.'

'I was right, he is sick! Is it terminal? Is it in his bones 'cause I've noticed his posture's a little funny?'

'No,' she chuckled, 'he's not dying and nothing's wrong with his bones.'

'What then?'

'In a few weeks, he'll become a legal adult, which means the orphanage can't take care of him anymore.'

'What?'

'He has to leave.'

_'They're kicking him out!?'_

'He'll be set up with other arrangements. But he can't stay here.'

'That's not fair. They let him stay when he was seventeen. What makes eighteen so special?'

'It's complicated,' said Rose, suddenly interrupted before she could continue.

'Alright, gang. Soup's on!' yelled Margaret bringing a big pot over to the table with mittened hands. In a softer voice, she mumbled, 'Golly, I've always wanted to say that and mean it.'

'We'll talk later, ok Lewis?' said Rose. 'Ok?' she said again to make sure Lewis was listening.

'Ok.'

 

* * *

 

Oliver only arrived home hours later, after the sun had set. Lewis made sure to wait for him at the bottom of the stairwell so that he'd be the first thing Oliver saw when he came through the door.

It took a while though, almost more patience than Lewis could handle. But he was able to distract himself long enough with the Rubik's cube Rose had gifted him on his birthday. He'd almost figured out the algorithm when the door creaked open.

'Oliver!' Lewis ran up to him for a hug.

'Oof-' startled, Oliver almost pulled away but tentatively returned the hug before peeling Lewis off his legs. 'Hey buddy!'

'Didja get something from the junkyard?'

'The what now?'

'Lewis says you promised to bring him something,' said Mildred now leaning against the stairwell railing.

'Oh, uh, did I? I'm sorry, buddy. Must've forgotten. Tomorrow, though.'

Lewis shrugged. 'That's okay. What'd you do today? Did you learn anything cool?'

'Actually,' interrupted Mildred, speaking to Oliver, 'I need to talk to you. I'm sorry Lewis, I'm gonna borrow him for a bit. Why don't you watch TV with the others?'

'Aww.' TV, it was always TV when no one knew how to occupy the orphans. Lewis had other plans though.

He snuck down the hall and found the closed interview room where Mildred and Oliver had gone to talk. He crouched down to inspect the crack under the door. This building was so old, nothing fit perfectly together. The gap was big enough to slide a small plastic tube underneath for Lewis to hear the low voices within.

'Where were you? It took me days to set up those interviews,' said Mildred's familiar voice, 'I'll never be able to get those couples to set foot in here again.'

'So they hate me even when they haven't met me.'

'That is not true and you know it. You can't think like that.'

'I'll think whatever I want, you're throwing me out in two weeks anyway.'

'Jesse, your new social worker—,' she said trying to change the subject, '—you remember?'

'Yes, I remember _Jesse_ , my new social worker,' spat Oliver.

'Don't take that tone with me. You will go to school, you will go to your interviews and all your appointments. It's time to grow up.’ Mildred continued, in a softer voice, she said, 'Jesse says he can apply you for welfare until you get a job. And with your grades, you really should start thinking about summer school. Maybe even a GED.'

'Yippee,' he deadpanned.

'Oliver...' she sighed, 'You want to talk?'

'No.'

'Talking helps. You can't hide your feelings in sarcasm forever. I know this is hard, your situation… it's—'

Oliver interrupted her, 'My screwed-up parents would rather dig themselves into an early grave than be with me and I feel like crap about it all the time, is that what you wanna hear?' The room fell silent. 'That's what I thought.'

Sensing a conclusion to their conversation, Lewis quickly yanked the tube out and took a few steps back. Oliver burst the door open. He marched down the hall and up the same stairs he took to the roof almost every day.

'Oliver!' Mildred call out, but it was no use. She sighed and went to walk back into the living room but stopped at the sight of Lewis with his tube.

Lewis jerked upright and hid the tube behind his back. 'Hi Mildred!'

'How much did you hear?'

'Hear what?'

'Lewis, you do not repeat anything that was said just now to anyone. Got it?'

'Yes ma'am. I'll, uh, I'll go watch TV now.' He turned to go to the couch but hesitated. 'Hey Mildred?'

'Mm?'

'About what Oliver said, was any of it true? Like, he wasn't joking or being hyperbolic, right?'

'He's in a bad place right now, but that's not something you've got to worry about.'

'But it's true, isn't it?' Her silence was all Lewis needed in answer.

 

* * *

 

Careful not to spill any soup on his way up, Lewis walked the steps very slowly. The door at the top of the stairwell was ajar, he pushed through with his elbow.

'Hey, so, you missed supper.' Lewis walked over to place the soup on a nearby crate where Oliver had his feet propped up.

'Thanks. M'not really hungry though.'

'Ok.' Lewis sat down next to where Oliver lay on his back, his feet still on the crate. The asphalt pebbles were uncomfortable to sit on, though when he rested his head next to Oliver, he could see the inconvenience was worth it. The view up here was one of the best, if not the best, in Lewis' short lifetime. The night was a clear blue with twinkles of city lights and nearby stars. The train rattled by along the tracks, the windows so close to the orphanage he could almost wave to the passengers within. They stayed in companionable silence until Lewis asked, 'Why d'you always come up here?'

'It's quiet, fresh air, it's roomy, away from everybody else.'

'You mean you don't like being around the other kids?' Lewis sat up, propping himself on his elbows.

'Sometimes. I don't hate them, it just gets to be a little much, you know?'

'Oh. Okay. Did you want me to leave you alone?'

'Nah, you're cool.'

He pondered that for a moment as he laid back down. Oliver the coolest kid ever, or at least at the orphanage, thought Lewis was cool. Everybody else saw him as a dork or a loser or, in Mildred's case, a pitiable rascal who dismantled every appliance in the building. But cool was never a word anyone ever thought to describe Lewis.

He did know that Oliver meant it metaphorically but it was still impressive to Lewis that he got to hang out with a kid like Oliver at all. Tag along on outings, hang out at home or at an after-school activity. Lewis didn't have many friends nor did he really care that much about what people thought of him, but truthfully it was a comfort knowing Oliver enjoyed his company.

'Yeah, bud,' said Oliver, 'Sorry again about the scrapyard. I totally blanked. Brain fart, I guess. But I got my physics book if you wanna look at it.' He gestured to his book bag, propped on the other side of the crate.

Lewis sat up and leaned over to fetch it. Cross-legged, he flipped though its pages, full-colour photographs, charts and test questions. It wasn't vintage, it was published as recently as two years ago. 'Cool! Hey this one has an updated atomic diagram!'

'You're such a weirdo.'

Lewis smiled and put the book aside, 'So what d'you do today?'

'Not much. Skated with some friends. Dine and dashed at the burger place. You know the one with the hairy guy in the kitchen?' Lewis nodded. 'Boy, I swear his hairs were flying as he tried to chase us. Then I got to school late and the teacher thought I cheated on my test. Then I had detention. Which I skipped. Adults yell way too much.'

'You skipped school?'

'Well, I was there for the history midterm and the first half of French. But then Ms Ghall went on about verb conjugation so, yeah,' he shrugged.

'But why? You're so lucky. In high school, they actually teach you things. In elementary, they just baby you.'

'You'll understand when you're older, Lew. School sucks.'

'Everyone says I could skip even further than fourth right to ninth grade but Mildred doesn't want me to.'

'Why not?'

'She says I'm too young. That I couldn't handle it. But I could!'

'Don't worry, little buddy. You're not missing out, high school's just a nickname for a prison where they chain kids to desks and make 'em do sh— er, _stuff_ , they don't wanna do. I'd kill to go back to fourth grade.'

'You have a funny way of saying things.'

Another train raced by, causing a ripple of vibrations as the steel clanked against the tracks. The headlights grew brighter until they were nearly as blinding as a midday's sun, then shrunk into the distance, leaving them both in the quiet darkness once again.

'Lewie... you ever wonder why we're even here?' said Oliver standing up.

'Like on Earth?'

'No, here, at the orphanage. What's the point of it all, the interviews, the photos, the application letters, the meet 'n' greet picnics, the social workers?' He paced around the asphalt, looking out towards the moon.

'So we can find a family.'

'Yeah that's what they say. Find a family, live in a house, be happy. But you know the real reason?' Lewis shook his head. 'It's because no one wants us.'

'Oliver, I know you've had a few bad interviews, everyone does. I turned a guy's hair blue in my last one. But you can't give up.'

'Thanks. But it's useless. My time's up.'

'Is this about the eighteen thing? Because I'm sure you could get adopted before your birthday. You still have two and a half weeks.'

'I can't do it anymore though. I just can't. I've been trying to get adopted since I was six. And you know what that got me? Zilch. Nada. Zero.' He stopped for a moment and went over to stand on the roof's edge overlooking the alleyway between the orphanage and Alfredo's Pizza.

'You'll see, in a few years,' he continued, looking away from Lewis, 'all those cutesy "adopt me" letters will get old. Not to mention couples only ever want babies. Babies that look like them so they can lie to everyone about us being adopted. I'm telling you: no one wants us. We're here because our birth parents couldn't stand us. And no one else wants a reject.'

And then, Oliver did the unexpected. He took a step forward over the edge.

'Oliver!' Lewis ran over to peer down, expecting bloody pulp on the cement. Instead, Oliver and his perfectly intact limbs dangled outside the open dumpster he'd landed on. He was swearing from below on his bed of garbage. Lewis called out to him, 'You okay?'

'I think I broke something.... Owww...'

 _No duh_ , thought Lewis, but said aloud, 'I'll go get Mildred!'

 

* * *

   
The clean off-white tones of the hospital seemed to fade even more behind the vibrant cards and "get well soon" giftshop balloons decorating the room.

'What were you thinking!?' cried Mildred at Oliver's bedside.

'Oh, gee,' said Oliver, as agitated as one could be while a myriad of their limbs and neck were encased in casts. 'Well, first I thought, "What a great bowl of canned soup for the fourth day in a row, thanks Margaret!" And then I thought, "Wow! Tonight's weather is perfect to lie in a dumpster!" What did you think I was doing?'

'But in front of Lewis? He's eight, you could've scarred him for life!'

'I'm fine,' said Lewis, unheard.

'Oh please, he's tougher than he looks! I was two years younger than him when Mom bit the dust. Why don't you just let him take the frigging SATs? Maybe then he won't have to completely suffer like the rest of us!'

'No, I'm fine really,' said Lewis feeling perfectly healthy as they talked over him.

Mildred and Oliver continued to bicker until the doctor interrupted to explain Oliver's grocery list of injuries. Afterward, Lewis and Mildred were ushered out as the psychiatrist came in, then left as Jesse entered, who, too, left with the arrival of Oliver's skater buddies on wheelie shoes. Lewis sat in the waiting room skimming the medical journals. He would sometimes pause and look up, watching the teens swerve around the tiles. He always wanted wheelie shoes.

The other orphans who came to visit Oliver hung around too, either playing with each other or fiddling with the loose ends of their clothes. Mildred was pacing in circles, yelling into her cellphone at the insurance company. She sat down with clenched fists. 'Damn it!' One of the full-timers at the orphanage sat next to her and they began to speak in whispers.

Lewis' gaze wandered to the other people in the waiting room. Not many stood around in large aimless groups like they did, most were here to worry over a family member coming in and out of surgery, awaiting to see if their mother or uncle or second cousin twice removed would get their new kidney. Couples cried on each other's shoulders as doctors stood by, a solemn look on their faces, surgical masks dangling from their necks. Kids ran around the play area, eagerly showing their new discoveries about the toy section to their parents who'd humour them with a smile or a pinch of the cheek. Lewis had never before felt more alone than he did sitting by himself with his surgical magazines. Of course, he was worried about Oliver, but for once Lewis wondered if anybody would ever worry about him the way these families did, gathering together in tragedy or elation.

Lewis had no family.

The thought struck him like it never had before. He was always a quiet kid with too much sense to whine or to cry. He kept his head down and ploughed through his teachers' excuses for a challenging assignment, meanwhile tinkering away at a new research project or a broken motherboard. He kept busy and he didn't much talk to anyone outside the orphanage. But what would come after? When he'd turn eighteen, who could he talk to? Could a person really a spend a life shut in a residency, examining old motors and living as a hermit on welfare?

All these people, they lived together and ate together, they went on vacations together, picnics, outings, thanksgiving dinners. What was thanksgiving to an orphan anyway? Just a spoilt turkey donated to them by a middle-class family who, for one day a year, pitied the “less fortunate”. Lewis had nowhere to bring his laundry when he would come home from college. He'd never once been in a car driven by people who cared about his well-being because it wasn't their job. Outside the orphanage, Lewis had nothing.

A little girl in a wheelchair rolled by, accompanied by a small cluster of blue-robed doctors. They stopped and suddenly the girl hopped out, and skipped over to the woman seated across from Lewis 'Mom! Mom! Look what I can do!' The woman, her eyes swimming in a bubble of tears, held her hand up to her mouth. 'I can't believe it! You're walking!' The girl ran into her mother's arms, the two of them locked in an embrace for what felt to Lewis like an eternity. 'Come here sweet baby girl...'

Watching the scene from where he sat, Lewis' stomach went in knots. He looked around and found only a distraction in the surgical monthlies, opened up a random page to an article about a family of cancer survivors. He slammed the magazine shut and occupied himself with counting the ceiling tiles as he waited for news on Oliver.

_We're here because our birth parents couldn't stand us._

* * *

 

Lewis never spoke to Oliver again. The hospital agreed to waive the surgery fees, all things considered. When Oliver was finally well enough to leave the hospital, he was moved into a residency program, speaking mostly to his friends or his social workers. It was safe to assume that within a few years, he'd find a steady job, live on his own, and be off to college.

Lewis, meanwhile, holed himself up in his room with his homework the moment he came home from school. He had no one to talk to, really. Mildred was always busy, the other orphans too preoccupied with some TV trend or other, and Rose had left, her volunteer credits done with, she was off to university.

Lewis stared back at his own handwriting, formulas and diagrams strewn all over his desk. His new idea was called "the automatic trampoline". Ideally, in every day circumstances, it would disguise itself as a solid surface, stable enough to withstand the weight of furniture, buildings, vehicles, pedestrians, etc. But when struck with enough sudden force, it would bounce back like a trampoline and absorb all the impact. A natural material able transition from solid to something with enough elasticity was so rare Lewis would have to resort to making it artificially. He'd asked the science teacher, but she only smiled dismissively, 'You're an imaginative little sport, ain't'cha?'

He heard a knock on his door, his thoughts now interrupted. Mildred leaned her head in, 'Supper's almost ready.'

'Ok,' he said not looking up from his papers.

Mildred opened the door wide enough for her to slide in and shut it behind her with a soft click. She walked up Lewis' desk and peered over his shoulder. ‘Is this what you've been missing lunch to work on?’

Lewis said nothing. Mildred examined a sheet of diagrams while he solved equations in his head. Despite his immature drawing skills, she could tell Lewis could combine his imagination and innovation to see horizons far beyond anyone else she'd ever known.

'Lewis? Lewis, I think we need to talk, put that pencil down.'

'What?'

'Are you ok? Since the incident?'

'Yeah. Why wouldn't I be? I'm not scarred for life if that's what you're worried about.'

'You don't find that you're a little sad now that Oliver's left?'

'I guess, but it's fine, really. Oliver was always going to leave one way or another.' Lewis' eyes suddenly glazed over the way they did when he started doing math in mid-air, his hands twitched as if to count all the imaginary variables.

Mildred went to grab his hands in hers and looked him in the eye. 'I know it must be hard for you. Seeing so many people come and go, having to... Present yourself to so many couples. If I could do anything to change that, I would. Given what's happened…. just know… that it's ok to be sad. It's ok to be angry.'

'Mildred, I'm fine!'

'Don't say you're fine, I know you aren't. Now, you're not always as transparent as other kids your age, but before Oliver left, you never skipped meals like this or kept yourself hidden in your room, calculating God knows what.'

Lewis' gaze was now locked on hers. He stayed quiet as Mildred stared back, searching for something she couldn't find. Mildred went on, 'If you ever do want to talk, I'll always be here for you. And, it doesn't even have to be me if you don't want, Karen, your social worker, she's there for that kind of thing too.'

Slowly, Mildred let go of his hands and stood up, waiting for an answer. After a moment's reflection, Lewis finally said, 'Thanks. But I don't need therapy or anything. I'll be down for dinner.'

'Ok. But, if you ever do, just tell me?'

Wordlessly, Lewis turned back to his papers and Mildred walked out into the hall. When he heard her feet march down the stairwell, he set his pencil down. He sank into his chair, uncomfortable as it was, and wondered what Oliver was doing at this very moment. Would he ever remember Lewis? Or was Lewis just an annoying kid who shadowed his every move?

Looking up at his bookshelf he reached for something that caught his eye. It was Oliver's physics book, he left it behind. On the inside cover was a white sticker with "# 36 Oliver Wilson" labelled in formal ballpoint writing. His eyes travelled down the page to the lower right-hand corner that was folded over to reveal a message. This was written in pencil, in decidedly messier writing. Oliver's script.

 

> _'Lewie, Mildred probably wants to kill me now. I'm sorry it had to be like this, I'm sorry I couldn't have been there for you. It's too late for me, BUT there's hope for you. Outside this place. You need to get out as soon as you can._
> 
> _You'll find a way. You're a smart kid. Get the Hell out and use your brains for something good._
> 
> _Peace._
> 
> _—_ _O'_

Lewis shut the textbook and placed it back on the shelf. He pondered Oliver's scribbled words, obviously written before his long recovery at the hospital. What did he mean, "get out"? Surely he didn't want Lewis to run away or fracture every bone in his body by jumping into a dumpster. The only way "out" was to get adopted.

'Lewis! Dinner!' Mildred's voice called out from downstairs.

Startled, he began to put away his work on the automatic trampoline when he stopped. As he stared at the blueprints, he knew how he was going to get out.

 

* * *

 

  
It was a few weeks later when Mildred knocked on his door and peeked in to say, 'The Johnstons are waiting, Lewis.'

'Yeah I heard you,' said Lewis from where he stood on his desk chair, putting the finishing touches on the automatic trampoline, which to Mildred's surprise looked nothing like a trampoline but more like a slab of white plaster in a wooden frame.

'Well, are you coming?'

He gave a little tap to his plaster block and grinned. He spun around to jump to the floor and heaved his project into his arms. 'Yup!' He said about to run to the interview room.

'Wait, wait,' Mildred stepped in front of him, 'You're not about to bring that into the room with you, are you?'

'You said yourself that interviews are about presenting yourself to couples. Well this is me.'

'A slab of plaster?'

'I've tried and tried the whole, smile, be polite and answer their questions routine. That's not who I am, not entirely. But my inventions—' He caressed the white block lovingly.

'D'you really think that's a good idea? After what you did to Mr Montgomery's hair?'

'I know, but this time, I have a plan. Please Mildred? I can do this, I promise.'

She frowned and she took a deep breath. 'Well, you are a very smart kid... How could I say no?'

'Yes! Thank you!' he said as he ran to the interview room.

Out of breath, he stumbled as he entered, balancing his latest (rather heavy) invention in his hands. The two women seated at the table looked to him, startled, then to the big white thing in his hands. Lewis composed himself as he set the box on the table then sat opposite them. Still catching his breath, he began with a friendly, 'Hi!'

The woman on the left, a bespectacled brunette in a green sweater, replied enthusiastically, 'Hello! You must be Lewis.' The woman to the right, a redhead in a pinstripe suit, stayed silent. The brunette elbowed the redhead, 'Say something.'

'Uh, hi.' She jerked her hand in a wave.

The brunette continued, 'My name is Maggie and this is my wife, Lucy. Don't mind her, she hasn't had her coffee yet.'

'Nice to meet you,' said Lewis eagerly trying to suppress his urge to get right to the point.

'So,' said Maggie, 'It says in your file that you invent things? That's cool.'

'Yes! I do!' He pulled the box to the centre of the table. 'This is my newest one, I call it "the automatic trampoline".'

'Uh, that's a trampoline?' said Lucy leaning close to it. 'Looks like a white brick. And aren't trampolines already automatic?'

'Wait 'till he explains it,' said Maggie.

'Yes, but not your standard kind. It's a solid polycarbonate material that expands with sudden rising temperature and becomes semi-gelatinous due to the heat-transfer of an impacting object coming from a high enough altitude that triggers an expansion of the molecules, thereby absorbing 2.5 quarters of its impact then returning back to solid as the bonds squeeze together again, which will cause the object to bounce upwards, though with only a quarter of its initial velocity.'

The couple looked to Lewis with bewildered frowns. They blinked.

'I'm sorry,' said Lucy breaking the silence, 'I haven't set foot in a science class for twenty years.'

'I think I almost get it,' said Maggie, gesturing as she tried to find her words, 'It's like, a, a melting marshmallow...thing...? D'you think you could repeat that a little slower?'

'That's alright,' said Lewis. 'I could go on and on but, as they say, pictures are worth a thousand words. How about a demonstration?'

'Ooo!' Maggie clapped her hands, 'Like a magic show!'

'I'd need to borrow an object, said Lewis. 'Something kind of heavy. At least 100 grams in matter.'

'Oh, hey, how about your Blackberry?' said Maggie pulling it out of Lucy's pant pocket.

'What? No! That's got my whole life!'

'Oh come on, it's just a cellphone. Besides, I'm sure it's safe, right?' she said turning to Lewis. 'You've tested it?' He nodded. 'See? Have faith.'

Lucy looked to them both skeptically but seeing Maggie's hopeful expression, she acquiesced. 'Fine. Alright. What happens now?'

'Ok, you've got to stand up and drop it on a perfect right angle. And it has to be about...' he paused making calculations in his head, '2.5 decametres directly above the centre.'

She stood and positioned the phone. 'Like this.'

'No, it's gotta be higher,' said Maggie.'

'And maybe a few centimetres to your left.'

'I don't really know how high a decametre is,' said Lucy.

'Just raise it a foot higher,' said Lewis.

'Okay.' Lucy closed her eyes as she dropped the phone. It plopped on the still-solid white surface. 'Nothing happened.'

'You weren't holding it right,' said Maggie taking the Blackberry, ‘Here let me.’

'No, I think we've seen enough,' said Lucy. 'Lewis, it's a wonderful... contraption. But, uh, we could always just have a, you know, normal conversation.'

'You're such a cynic. He said two feet.' Maggie stood on her chair, phone in hand, poised to drop it.

'Uh, actually that might be too—' began Lewis but the phone had already impacted the surface. It launched backwards at an angle, shattering the left lens of Maggie's glasses and hitting her eye. She screamed while the phone crashed into the wall, pieces scattering over the floor.

'I'm ok!' she said crouching down but slipped on a stray back panel of the phone. She fell to the ground with a thud and let out a moan, 'Ah! I think my ankle's sprained.'

It all happened so fast, Lewis scrambled over to her as Lucy was helping her up. 'Don't touch her!' she said, jerking her arm up to block him.

'I'm so sorry! This was never supposed to happen!' Maggie was cupping her hands around the assaulted eye socket beneath her shattered lens. Suddenly, Lewis noticed something roll towards his foot. His blood turned cold. 'Oh my God!' He started to cry, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Imsorryimsorry—'

'Don't worry, don't worry. It's just my glass eye,' said Maggie trying to stand, 'Agh!' she said falling back, 'Lucy can you hand it over?'

Lucy crouched down, one arm still supporting Maggie as she delicately plucked the eyeball from the floor. 'I told you, Margæry,' Lucy hissed to Maggie as if Lewis wasn't in earshot, 'some street urchin orphans aren't the answer.'

His heart fell, though he knew it wouldn't change anything at this point, he still pleaded his apologies. Lucy interrupted him with a curt reply, 'Thank you, but we'd better get home.'

'It was nice meeting you, Lewis,' said Maggie sadly.

As they left through the hall, Lewis turned back to look at the damage. Scattered remains of Lucy's cellphone intermingled with glass shards from Maggie's lenses. He walked over, crushing glass beneath his shoes, and stared down at the "automatic trampoline". Some invention.

Nothing in his life was working, let alone any of his inventions. Seems he was only good at taking things apart. He picked up the slab of polymer and threw it against the wall. It bounced back onto the floor where it cracked, the remaining slab lying on its side.

He was a street urchin; he was a reject. Just like Oliver said, no one wanted him. He shuddered hearing Maggie and Lucy's voices down the hall as Mildred spoke to then in high-pitched apologies. It was no use, the sound of doors slamming echoed through his ears. Even his own parents left him behind. His parents.

Suddenly a thought struck him and he couldn't let it go.

Lewis ran to Mildred's office. He closed the door and twisted the lock shut. He grabbed a chair and tilted its back underneath the door handle. His eyes zoned in on the filing cabinets. He opened every single drawer in the room, even resorting to picking the locked ones with stray paper clips and pins. Papers flew, files scattered. Photos, certificates, forms, letters, some so old they were carbon copies from a typewriter.

'Lewis!' called a voice. 'What're you doing?' Mildred's feet were visible from under the crack of the barricaded door. She began to knock, hard. The doorknob jiggled with desperation. 'Lewis, please! Come outside, it'll be alright!' She knocked and yelled once more but Lewis ignored her, continuing on his search.

He'd ravaged through the L's in the cabinet when he'd stupidly remembered the files would be sorted by surname. Fake ones. He'd found it, finally, in with the P's. Shuddering at the surname the judge must've given him as a joke, he slid it out from the drawer.

File in hand, Lewis sank to the floor, littered in a chaos of paperwork he barely noticed now that he'd set eyes on what he'd come for. His hands began to shake. Once opened, this file could never be closed, not really. The answers to the questions burning in his brain would stay with him forever from this point on. And he dreaded to know what it was but he had to.

Just like taking off a Band-Aid, he flipped the file open and forced himself to gaze at its contents.

Compared to the others', Lewis' folder was underwhelmingly thin. The first thing he saw was a birth certificate. His name printed at the top, assigned by strangers only because you couldn't legally exist without a name. His D.O.B. was March 19 1995 12:00 AM. His eyes were blue, hair blonde, and he was American. All this he knew, what he was looking for lay further, somewhere in the small pile of papers.

He flipped over to a series of stapled reports by Karen Schteiff, his social worker. They detailed Lewis' psychological profile, using a therapist's favourite words: "acting out", "projecting", "isolation", "compulsion", "deflection", etc. This he didn't really what to think about. He shuffled paper after paper until he found it, right at the bottom. It was a photocopy of Mildred's cursive script.

 

> _April 7th, 1995_
> 
> _I found Lewis on the orphanage's doorstep. On the night of March 19th at around 5 AM, I heard a knock on the door. Worried it might be an intruder, I only opened the door enough to see what was outside. He was small enough to be a newborn, maybe even within the last week. He was wrapped in a mouldy blanket and placed almost half-hazardly in a soggy cardboard box. There was no note of any kind and from what I could see, whomever left him had gone quickly. No sign at all of any parent or guardian._

 

The report went on to detail Lewis' unsanitary conditions, how neither the police nor the hospital could track down his mother, and why Mildred and the 6th Street staff were qualified and capable of taking him in. Lewis only skimmed the second half of the letter that ended in a flourish of Mildred's signature.

He leaned back against the cold metal of the filing cabinet. His heart pumped in his ears and his stomach felt heavy. These were not the answers he'd expected. He'd always assumed someone had seen his parents, met them. Maybe giving her son up for adoption was the selfless sacrifice of a woman with a terminal illness, like Marie Curie, she'd killed herself in dedication to a fatal discovery for science; maybe they'd died in some random, tragic accident; or even in the line of duty, taken out by enemy spies.

But not like this. Stuff like this wasn't supposed to happen in real life, people were supposed to care. They don't abandon their kids on purpose. But his parents did. Someone had brought him into the world, then had second thoughts. They'd walked up the stairs, in the middle of the night, and left him there in a box. Their lives now improved without his existence burdening them. Cowards.

He looked to Mildred's letter. He had thrown it away; it was plainly written in under a paragraph like a weather report. His hands trembled as he crushed the paper into his fists then started ripping at its corners, shredding it across the floor.

Mildred's knocks were getting louder and louder until she burst in past the now broken door. A young volunteer Lewis didn't recognise watched from outside as Mildred ran to hug him, blotting out his view of the doorway. He cried into her wool sweater. Tears and saliva mingled as he began to have trouble breathing between sobs.

'It's ok, it's ok.' Mildred held him tight and rocked him back and forth. 'It's ok. I'm here. You're ok, Lewis. You're safe.'

'They didn't want me!' he blubbered, 'They left me, they hate me!'

'Shhhh-shh-sh. That's not true. You don't know that.'

'No one wants me, no one likes me!'

'No! Don't say that, don't even think it.'

'He was right! Oliver was right! No one wants us!'

Mildred, knowing now was not the time to argue, simply said, 'Shhh. It's ok, it's ok.'

'How could they? How could they do that? Who does that? Now I'm trapped and I'll die alone, you'll kick me out too.'

'No I won't. No I won't, sweetie. You're right here, I've got you. You're safe. It's ok, it's ok.'

'I'm alone, I'm alone, I'm alone.....' Lewis had never before said anything like that aloud but when the words rang in his ears, he knew they were true.

 

* * *

  

It was hours before Lewis finally tired himself out. Wrapped in a blanket, Mildred gave him water and offered what was left of dinner. Despite his stubborn mood, when it was laid before him, he gobbled the pasta up off the plate in a few bites.

He knew the others had been watching curiously from their corners. Volunteers, orphans, and full-timers alike. Lewis was too tired to worry himself with them as he climbed the steps up to his room.

Mildred tucked him in with a glass of water at his side table. She sat at the end of the bed and held a tight grip on his hand. In a quiet voice, she said, 'I love you Lewis. I do. I can't the way a parent would, but I think you're a brilliant, sweet and absolutely wonderful little boy,' then she added in a mumble, 'though you may be a too smart for your own good.' In the dark, Lewis could see her smirk. 'Anyone would be lucky to have you in their family and I'm sure it won't be long until someone realises that. If I could make that happen right away, I would. Until then, you just have to keep your head up and believe in yourself.' She stood to leave, patted his head and walked out. The door closed with a soft creak.

Lewis let his weight sink into the blankets. His eyelids got heavier and heavier, dreaming of rain, cardboard boxes, and a blonde Marie Curie carrying his infant-self down the streets of Midtown.

After only a couple hours' sleep, Lewis' eyes were wide open. Without turning the bedroom light on, he snuck into the hallway with a blanket draped over his shoulders. Guided by the moonlit window, he made his way to the doorway that led to the roof. Up the stairs, and past the locked door (which he picked), he stepped out barefoot into the cool night air.

He walked along the rough asphalt pebbles and sat down next to one of the crates. He hugged the blanket to himself in the chilly air and looked to the moon. Was it the same moon his mother saw when she left him here in a box?

His way out wasn't through her, nor the Johnstons or the Montgomerys or Oliver or Rose or even Mildred. He would just have to keep trying until someone loved him enough to take home. Like Mildred said, he would keep his head up until then.

Lewis produced a pencil from his pocket and drew a single line on the side of the crate. The first in what would become an ever-growing tally chart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :) Please let me know what you thought! (Also: my apologies I'm still vvvv confused abt the plethora of Ao3 settings)


	2. Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every morning is a little different. [ F/C, T for swearing, ~6.5K ]

She felt the light tickle her skin as the sun rose. Early noon, late morning. Lazy Sunday. The room began to focus and she remembered where she was. The walls reflected a bright white, dust particles dancing in the window’s rays. Franny sighed as she nestled deeper into the sheets, turning over to the other side to meet Cornelius’ groggy smile.

‘Morning,’ she said.

‘Morning,’ he said.

She scooted closer and he leaned his head on her shoulder. ‘Mmm. I had this dream,’ she said, still groggy, ‘We were in this…fancy art gallery… We fell into one of the paintings. It was of a walrus, or maybe a whale. And then we were inside its stomach, but it was some sort of... cotton candy world. Even the buses were cotton candy.’

‘Cotton candy. Sounds nice.’ He propped his head on his hand to meet her eyes, ‘Hey, you know, I think the fair’s this weekend. We could get cotton candy there.’

‘Yeah?’

‘What d’ya say?' 

‘Maybe,’ she yawned. ‘ _Or_ …’ She sank further into the blankets.

‘Yeah,’ he agreed, brushing his toes against hers and leaning his head back on her shoulder. ‘Or.’

It had been only a week since she’d moved into Cornelius’ house, but it already felt like home.

 

* * *

 

As the sun began to rise with the chirping birds, he opened his eyes to see that Franny had awoken before him. She was already up and about, and in her place, was the steady echo of a woman’s voice.

 _C'est le temps de l'amour,_  
Le temps des copains et de l'aventure.  
Quand le temps va et vient,  
On ne pense à rien malgré ses blessures.  
  
Without even sitting up, he could tell she’d been sifting through the record collection. Once he did, propped up on his elbows, he saw her swaying, twirling, shimmying in her striped pyjamas. Her hair still tussled, she was barefoot against the carpet.

 _On se dit qu’a vingt ans on est le roi du monde,_  
Et qu’éternellement, il y aura dans nos yeux  
Tout le ciel bleu.

She hummed softly in tune. The vinyl spun about merrily with audible cracks and pops. She balanced on the tips of her toes, alternating between ballet and break-dancing, as she moved between the scattering of the yet-to-be-unpacked cardboard boxes of her things. He never tired of her amateurish love of all things mid-century, heck, her amateurish love of all things fullstop.

He stood less than a few feet away, watching her, at once mesmerised and bemused. ‘What’re you doing?’

 _Un beau jour, c'est l’amour et le cœur bat plus vite,_  
Car la vie suit son cours  
Et l'on est tout heureux d'être amoureux.

She wasn’t facing him but suddenly arched backwards, her neck craned around to give him an upside-down smile. He remembered that smile fondly. ‘Come join me,’ she said.

 _Car le temps de l’amour_  
C’est long et c’est court,  
Ça dure toujours, on s’en souvient.

He took her outstretched hand in his. ‘You have such weird taste in music.’

‘Actually,’ she said as they tangoed and square danced across the room, ‘I found these in Lucille’s collection. So, your mom has weird taste in music.’

He twirled her and she shrieked with laughter as he let her fall into his arm. ‘I like it.’

  

* * *

 

The bathroom had already begun to reflect their new status quo, an invisible division of his and her. Her colourful, organic brand-name soaps and creams threatening to spill over on one side, to the other, his ascetic single toothbrush and razor.

‘Hey what’re you doing?’ she said pausing between flosses to watch him squeeze out a mint-green pea of toothpaste.

‘What?’

‘You’re supposed to squeeze from the bottom.’ She gestured to the toothpaste. ‘See?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. It’ll get stuck if you do it like that,’ she said. ‘Then you’ll have wasted nearly half of it.’

‘ _Or_ , I could just do whatever I want and then once I start running out, I just do this,’ he shuffled around their cabinet and plucked one of her nail files from where it sat in a jar. Pressing the edge against the toothpaste, he pushed the paste up toward the opening. ‘See? Think of all the time we’ll save not worrying about where we squeeze out toothpaste.’

‘Genius. You should patent that.’

‘Ya think?’

‘Yeah, it’ll be your next big thing,’ she gestured to an imaginary news headline, ‘The Toothpaste Dispenser 3000! Batteries not included.’ 

He smirked. ‘The board’ll love that one.’

He gave her a peck on the cheek but she jerked away. ‘Eugh! Gross! You still smell like shaving cream and toothpaste!’                                                                                      

He smiled wide, showing off his pearly whites. ‘Minty Fresh.’

 

* * *

 

Franny squinted in the mirror, looking over her shoulder at a small mark on her skin. She shrugged, it was probably nothing. A freckle, maybe. She hoped. Suddenly, next to her, the steady stream of shower water came to a squeaky halt and she heard the sound of bare feet running against the tile out towards their bedroom. She pulled her shirt back over her shoulder and ran out to see Cornelius, butt-naked, rummaging through the side table drawers until he found a pen and paper. He sat at the edge of their bed, hair dripping onto his page and scribbled vigorously. She couldn’t help but snicker at the image before her. 

 ‘You’re gonna get our sheets all wet,’ she said.

 It was a few minutes of jittery notations before he finally put the pen down and looked up. ‘Sorry.’

 ‘It’s ok. It’s just water. What was so urgent you had to run out in your birthday suit?’

 ‘I just thought of something I had to write down. The shape of the propellers. They’re pentalobular but if we made them triangular, that might have less resistance. We’d just have to compensate with a bigger battery.’

 ‘I have no idea what that means,’ she gave him a peck on the cheek, ‘but it’s probably brilliant.’

 He allowed himself a smile before he went back to his idea, gears reeling. ‘We’ve been stuck on this for weeks. I can’t believe the answer’s so simple! I gotta make a call.’ He was about to get up when she stopped him.

 ‘Hey, Cornelius?’

 ‘Yeah?’

 ‘Maybe put on some pants?’

 ‘Oh, yeah.’

 

* * *

 

'Hey, does this look ok?’ he said one morning, coming out of the closet in a granite grey blazer and a white shirt. ‘We’re meeting with some investors today and I don’t wanna look sloppy but I also don’t want to look uppity either.’ He adjusted his sleeves. ‘Like… casual professional?’

 She looked in the mirror, puckered as she put on her lipstick. She wasn’t facing him. ‘You could dress up in a Dino Bob mascot costume and I’d still say you look good.’

‘I just might take you up on that,’ he said winking. But giving himself another once-over in the mirror, he had to ask again. ‘Ok but really?’

 She turned around, cocking her head and putting a hand to her chin, pretending to mull it over. ‘Hmmm….’ She pulled him closer by the lapels of his blazer. Their noses were mere inches apart. She ruffled his hair. ‘Now it’s perfect.’

 

 

* * *

 

She yawned and stretched. The spot on the mattress where her hand landed was cold. No one else was in the bed. She sat up and pulled the covers back. Rubbing her eyes, she padded along the cold floors that lead to the kitchen.

The room buzzed with family members opening cupboards, shuffling utensils and staring indecisively at the open fridge. Franny looked to the abundance of food at the table. Baskets of muffins and fruit. Plates of toast. And most importantly, there were stacks and stacks of waffles, fluffy with a sheen of butter and syrup. Breakfast really was the king’s meal.

 ‘Oooh!’ She clasped her hands together. ‘What’s the occasion?’

 ‘Testing out the new waffle maker,’ said Cornelius. ‘Thought I’d make it special.’

 ‘Mmm.’ She took a seat between Lucille and Bud, manicured nails plucking a toast. ‘So does that make us the lab rats?’

‘In a way, I guess.’

 ‘Well, I have to say,’ she took a bite, giving him a coy smile, ‘I quite enjoy being your test subject.’

 

* * *

 

Franny’s eyes fluttered open to meet Neil’s face lying opposite her in their bed. The flickers of her vivid dreams faded, soon replaced by an intense urge to study his sleeping features. He looked serene as he snored quietly, sans-glasses, the eyeballs under his lids moving along the gaze of whatever his own dreams entailed. She wondered what he was thinking about, looking both calmer and younger than he ever did while awake.

She shifted to bring her hand up to his face, a finger dancing from his temples to the bridge of his nose, tickling him along the cheeks with feather-light touches. His nostrils flared, twisting into a grimace as he flicked her hand away and briefly scratched his nose. But Franny wasn’t having it, she inched even closer, running a hand through his leafy blonde hairs. ‘Eughhhh,’ he groaned. ‘Not now.’ When he rolled away from her, she followed, wrapping her arms around him into a hug. ‘No. ’M tired…’ He didn’t have the energy to even try to pry her off, which was likely for the best; they both knew Franny was stronger. Instead, she began caressing him with a soft trail of kisses down his neck. ‘Fran…’ She continued, ignoring every one of his protests. ‘Fran stop.’ He felt something cold on his back and his eyes popped open. ‘Ack! _What_ are you doing!?’

‘What? I’m just giving you a back massage.’

‘At five in the morning!? _With your feet?_ ’

‘I dunno.’ Her brows knit, confusion slowly replaced by indignation. ‘Why not? Seemed like a good idea.’ _Why was he being such a curmudgeon?_

‘Well, stop.' 

‘Oh, come on,’ she sat up, ‘D’you know how many people would kill to be woken up by their girlfriend’s affection?’

‘Yes, please kill me.’

Franny rolled her eyes. ‘Some people have war in their countries, Cornelius.’

‘And some people have an incredibly tedious meeting they can’t avoid and wanna get to with at least a full night’s sleep.’ She pouted and he sat up to meet her eyes. ‘You know what? If you’re gonna be like this, I may as well go to the guestroom!’

‘Are you serious?’ She watched him get out of bed. ‘You’re gonna hafta get up in, like, two hours anyway.’

‘Yeah, I am!’ he said with determination. His hand was already at the door before he yawned, then paused, walked backward and sank into the pillow. ‘Ugh, you know what else?’ he mumbled. ‘I don’t even have the energy to go.’ 

Head leaning against the headboard she looked down at him. ‘This is how you respond when someone does something nice to you?’

‘I’m too busy _sleeping_ to get mad at you for _interrupting_ my sleep,’ he said with muffled ire as he turned face-down on the pillow. 

The room grew quiet, slowly replaced by Cornelius’ steady breathing. Franny glanced down at him from where she still sat up in bed. ‘Neil?’ she whispered.

‘Hmmm?’

‘I’m sorry. I was just kidding around.’

‘It’s a little much…’ Still lying down, he didn’t move as he spoke. ‘Sorry I yelled.’

‘Wanna just pretend this never happened?’ Franny could only hear his quiet exhales in reply. Her gaze met the back of his head. ‘Neil? Cornelius?’ She waited a moment more before realising she really wasn’t sleepy at all. ‘Okay.’ She got up and left him to sleep until his alarm went off, but not before pulling the covers back over his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

 

Their alarm went off. Someone pressed the snooze button. They lied back down, vaguely aware of the sounds of ships and birds flying outside. They still had a few more minutes…

A loud clang of cymbals and drums, the chants of children and the slightly quieter mumbles of a balding man started down the hall until it burst through their bedroom door. Laszlo and Tallulah had apparently found Franny’s trunk of miniature percussion instruments. They climbed onto the bed and started jumping, drumming, and clanging as they chanted, ‘WAKE UP! WAKE UP! IT’S CHRISTMAS! IT’S CHRISTMAS!’ 

‘What’s happening?’ said Franny, groggy.

‘AUNTIE FRAN! UNCLE NEIL! WAKE UP!’

‘I think we’re getting invaded.’ Neil reached out for his glasses.

‘I’m sorry,’ said a sheepish Fritz coming into the room. ‘I kept telling them it’s not Christmas yet.’

‘Wait,’ Laszlo paused, speaking in his normal voice, ‘It’s not?’

‘No, sweetie,’ said Franny.

‘Ya silly goose!’ said Cornelius sitting up. He picked him up, raising him in the air Lion King-style. Laszlo giggled. ‘It’s Monday. And I gotta go to work,’ he put Laszlo back down, ‘which means _you two_ have to get your butts to school!’

‘Aw…’ Both kids whined, but it was half-hearted.

‘I tried to tell you!’ called Fritz as they ran back down the hall. He turned to face his nephew. ‘Somehow they listen to you more than me.’

‘Don’t sweat it. You know, I’m always around to play the Bad Cop parent, if you ever need it.’

‘I just might take you up on that,’ said Fritz with nervous laughter before he too, began to make his leave. ‘Again, sorry.’ He closed the door behind him.

Franny massaged her shoulder. ‘Isn’t being woken up by kids jumping on the bed something only parents have to worry about?’  

‘Well, we are sort of their parents,’ said Cornelius. ‘One set out of three.’ On that fateful day, when the original Petunia had passed, the whole family stepped in to help Fritz with the kids, who in turn had become a nervous wreck in his grief.

 ‘Yeah,’ said Franny thoughtfully, ‘I guess we are their parents. It’ll be good practice, too.’

‘Hm?’ 

‘For when we’re someone else’s _only_ set of parents.’

 

* * *

 

  

Franny woke to the sound of a chainsaw. Espresso in hand, tussled bedhead hair, and eyes barely open, she tapped on Cornelius’ shoulder. ‘Sorry. Did we wake you?’ he said.

‘You could wake up all of Todayland with that chainsaw,’ she said. They both had to yell for the other to hear.

A moment passed and the sound of power tools began to fade as they were turned off for the workers (both human and robotic) to take a break. Cornelius put his arm around her shoulders and gestured to the now wall-less side of the room, draped in plastic tarps. ‘Once this is finished, then we can have a view of the fields.’

‘Mmm… That’ll be nice. Lucille’s garden is really coming along.’ Holding her own coffee cup she gazed down at the bushy teacups circling a large teapot in the midst of “pouring” tea.

As she leaned onto his shoulder, he could already imagine the sprawling topiary his father guided him through all those years ago. Now soon enough, it would be their son running about those same polka dot trampolines.

‘Hey, later today,’ she said, ‘I think I’m gonna have Frankie and the boys do a jam sesh if you wanna pop by at some point. We need your ear for percussion.’

He smiled, knowing she was telling a white lie. ‘Definitely.’

 

* * *

 

 

‘Neil! Neil!’ Franny was shaking his shoulder.

‘Hmm…’

‘Cornelius! Wake up!’

‘Huh… wuhtizit?’

‘Feel!’ She grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach.

‘Is that—?’ He blinked. He was wide awake now. 

‘Yeah…!’ She beamed.

‘My God. Already kicking…’ He leaned a little closer to her stomach. ‘Embryos, they grow up so fast.’ She snorted, but he could see her smile was genuine. 

A few months ago, Franny was surprised at Cornelius’ excitement at having a baby. With his work, she wasn’t sure he could acclimate to the life of your average homebody but he’d taken it upon himself, the parenting books, the safety-proofing, with such gusto, she’d wondered how she could be so lucky. Her smile grew wider watching him beam at just the kick of an embryo. 

They stared at the ceiling, both pondering the progressive division of cells that would soon give them a child. After a moment, she said, ‘Cornelius.’ He looked to her. ‘We’re going to be parents.’ 

‘Yeah...’

‘Can you imagine? Actual, real, _parents_.’

‘It’s happening, Fran.’

Head still on her pillow, she turned to him, wide-eyed. ‘Some little person is going to start calling us Mom and Dad.’ 

‘All the diapers,’ he said.

‘Sleepless nights,’ she said.

‘Temper-tantrums,’ he said.

‘Breastfeeding,’ she said. 

‘Car seats,’ he said.

‘Pacifiers,’ she said.

He sat up and touched her lightly on the shoulder. ‘I can’t wait.’ 

They grinned.

 

* * *

 

 

She rolled over to poke him in the shoulder. ‘Hey.’

‘Hmmhm?’ he groaned.

‘Hey, Cornelius,’ she greeted him in a wide-eyed beam. ‘You know what day it is?’

‘Uh, Tuesday? I think? Which reminds me,’ he said getting up and out of bed, ‘I’ve a deadline.’ She watched as he swiftly made his way around, barely needing to look where he was going as he got dressed. Moments later, she heard him pause and yell out. ‘Fran, have you seen my left shoe?’ he said, his words a little muffled as he crouched to look under the bed. He sat back up, resigned at the prospect of having to fish out an old pair from their overflowing attic storage. ‘Can’t find it anywhere.’

‘Try the closet?’ she said looking at her reflection in the mirror as she tied her hair 

‘That’s the first place I looked!’

‘No, the other one.’

‘Why would my shoe end up in your closet?’ He paced the room, double-checking every nook and cranny.

‘I dunno. Maybe one of the cleaning bots misplaced it?’ Franny shrugged, distractedly putting on some hand cream. When he opened her closet doors, he was surprised to find his shoe propped atop a bright blue box. ‘I know you said you didn’t want anything for your birthday,’ she said walking up behind him, ‘but I couldn’t help myself.’

‘Fran, you shouldn’t’ve.’ The box was narrow and thin, beautifully fastened with an ornate bow and precisely wrapped in polkadot paper. Franny always had a deft hand for detail.

‘It’s just a small something…’

Finally opening the box, his brows furrowed at the contents. ‘What is it?’

‘Waterproof paper. For the shower. Now, when you get an idea, you won’t have to dash out to write it down _in the nude_.’

 

* * *

 

 

Cornelius stopped mid-shave , he froze looking down at the floor. ‘Oh my God…’ he whispered, ‘It’s El Diablo…’

‘What?’ said Franny, flossing at the sink beside him.

‘Ah!’ He jumped, carefully watching where he stepped. ‘He crawled under the sink!’ He added under his breath, ‘The little shit.’

‘What did?’ Franny paused with her floss still wrapped around her fingers.

‘A spider. He’s white and huge!’

‘You named it?’ Franny crouched down next to him to look at the barely perceptible crack in the wall he pointed to.

‘I’ve seen him around here. He’s terrible. He only comes out when he knows we’re here.’

‘You’re afraid of spiders?’

‘No,’ he said. Franny raised an eyebrow. ‘Look, normal spiders are fine, but this one’s different. He’s _white_ , Fran. White spiders are basically the evil doppelgängers to normal spiders.’

‘Okay, okay. Hold your horses.’ She reached over to grab a glass cup from the sink. ‘Oh! There!’ She trapped “El Diablo” under the glass. ‘Got it.’ She got up and came back with a piece of paper that she slid under the glass. Carefully she carried El Diablo in his trap as she made her way towards the window. ‘Now you can shave in peace,’ she said as she walked past Cornelius.

‘You’re just gonna let him go!?’

She opened the window and emptied the spider out from the glass. ‘He deserves to live in his natural habitat.’

‘Or he’s a mooch who’s going to come crawling back come winter.’

‘Bugs don’t live that long.’

‘I know. I’m just saying.’ 

‘And you don’t have to be afraid,’ she put an arm over his shoulders. ‘You have me. Your knight in shining armour.’ 

‘I was never that afraid. I was more afraid _for_ you. You know, it could’ve been diseased. Malaria and such.’ 

Franny nodded, ‘Sure.’

‘Thanks, though.’ He added, in a whisper, ‘That was kind of incredible.’

‘No prob, Bob.’ 

‘And, uh, if there’s another, could you do that again?’ 

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of soft whimpers came from the monitor. They both shifted underneath the covers. Whimpers became wails. Cornelius flipped the pillow over his ear and Franny nudged his leg with her toes. They’d taken turns like most new parents did and when they lost track, he’d been the sensitive father-to-be and got up in her stead. But it had been three weeks in a row. Self-sacrifice was out the window now. Wilbur was a baby with lungs of steel and his parents would do anything to have their sleep back.

They settled this liked adults. Franny reached over to the bedside table for a coin she had for just such an occasion. They sat up and she flipped it. While it turned in mid-air, they noticed something. Something glorious.

Silence.

Coin-toss forgotten, they settled back into their pillows returning to the serenity of their REM cycle… until a thought struck them.

‘Wait. Why’s he so quiet?’

‘You don’t think something’s happened?’

Panicked, they threw the covers over and rushed into the nursery. In his crib, Baby Wilbur slept serenely. Quietly. They both stared at the tiny rise and fall of his chest to be sure. It seems he’d only tuckered himself out, albeit very suddenly. It was 5 AM, they had their opportunity now to go back to sleep in good conscience. But instead they remained standing, looking down in wonderment at the wide-eyed blob of rosy pink baby fat that was their infant son. They were parents now.

‘D’you think,’ said Franny, ‘That with a voice like that, he could grow up to be a singer?’

‘Maybe,’ he said realising that he knew just as much as she did on the matter. ‘Anything is possible. And you’d be a good teacher.’

She smiled modestly. ‘We’re getting ahead of ourselves.’

‘I do get the feeling he’s going to be something of a rascal in a few years, though.’

‘Yeah,’ she said looking at the way Wilbur slept innocently where minutes before he was crying nonstop. ‘I can see it.’

‘Y’think Wilbur would be opposed to us enforcing a curfew this year?’ she said in the bathroom doorway, thinking out loud as she ran her hands through her wet hair before she towel-dried it. ‘He’s been going out a lot these days. I worry.’

‘Mmm…’ was his only reply. Neil sat at the bed, looking busy with some papers in his hands.

‘I said—’ she walked out of the bathroom but she stopped. ‘Cornelius…’ His glasses were in his hands, elbow resting on a bent knee. From afar, he might look like he was concentrating, but as she peered closer it seemed he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. His papers had begun to fall past the edge of the bed onto the floor. He didn’t move to pick them up. His eyes were red. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ His voice was thick. His muscles tensed. She sat down next him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Her hair, still wet, dripped down his shirt where it met his tear stains. Neither moved from their spot.

‘Everything okay?’ She only said so as a courtesy, clearly it wasn’t.

‘Yeah…’ he said unconvincingly. Slowly, he let himself lean into her. She held him close.

‘Okay.’ She stroked a thumb against his cheek. Her eyes wandered downward. He’d let most of the files slide to the ground, but for a small slip of paper, wrinkled and tattered under his grip. It was someone’s address. Astrid Kinsey’s address. ‘Fuck her.’

‘Thanks.’ 

 

* * *

 

 

On Christmas morning, when their windows were frosted in ice and snow, their floors littered in torn wrapping paper, and what was left of breakfast was starting to get cold, the family had gathered into the parlour for a game of charades. 

While everybody sat in their respective seats on the room’s blobby furniture, Franny stood at the front by the fireplace, gesturing wildly.

‘You’re… running? Waffle-making. Ironing. Skiing?’ said Cornelius, at the edge of his seat and doing his best to decipher Franny’s erratic dance movements. ‘You’re running away from something. You’re frozen. You’re a frozen caveman.’ She gestured, once more as she had earlier for emphasis, for one two-syllable word. ‘Caveman, that’s what I said. Taxi driver? Uh, you’re having a seizure? Franny, are you having a seizure?’

She stopped, frowning. ‘What? No.’

‘Okay, okay, we still have time,’ he said glancing to the timer on Gaston’s cell. ‘Try a different tactic. Bungee jumping. Tap dancing. You’re doing the can-can. You’re homeless. Tax collecting. Uh, fishing? You have back pain. Arthritis. You’re an ancient Egyptian. Aliens? Dentist? You’re lost on a desert island and you really have to pee. Does this have anything to do with dinosaurs?’

‘Time’s up!’ said Gaston. 

Cornelius got up to fish the slip of paper out of the bowl. ‘“Robot”,’ he read aloud. ‘Robot? Really? That wasn’t a robot!’

‘Yes, it was. Robots do this,’ she made a chopping motion, twitching as she moved her shoulders around in a jerky motion. ‘Don’t they?’

‘Not unless they’re having a mental breakdown they don’t.’

Hands on her hips, she was not about to give in. ‘I was being a very convincing robot, thank you very much.’

‘I dunno, Fran,’ said Gaston, relishing this opportunity, ‘Neil _makes_ robots, he should know.’

‘How about we ask Carl’s opinion?’ she said. ‘He’s a robot.’

C4R1’s then-pewter limbs retracted, ever so slightly, into their sockets from where he sat at the couch. Even as an early prototype, he had his characteristic anxiety, brows leaning against each other in a worried triangle. ‘Oh... Oh, don’t put me in this position. Please.’

She frowned. ‘You said enough with your eyes.’

‘Franny, you have many talents,’ said C4R1, ‘Many other talents.’

She pouted as she plopped down next to Cornelius on the couch. ‘Was it really that bad?’ 

‘Yes, you can’t charade to save your life. Thank God no one in the family is deaf.’

‘Then why’re you smiling so much?’ 

‘Because. I finally found something you absolutely _can’t do_. It’s cute.’

 

* * *

 

 

He woke to the sound of her pacing the floor. He reached for his glasses and, putting them on, saw her dishevelled state as she buzzed around the room. He did his best to sound calm. ‘You’re up early. More than usual, I mean.’

‘Yep.’ Her words were curt. ‘The birds outside woke me up.’ She sounded offended that birds would do such a thing. ‘Plus, I think the fact that I’m not constantly pulling all-nighters when I have work the next day helps.’

‘Maybe,’ he said evenly. They’d had many an argument about his late nights in the lab, but now, while she was on the verge of a panic attack, was not the time to open that can of worms. ‘Franny?’

‘Mmhmm?’

‘Y’ok?’

 ‘Yup. Peachy.’

‘Okay. You mind sitting down? You’re making me nervous.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You’re thinking about tonight’s show, aren’t you?’ 

‘No, Cornelius, I’m worrying about what to eat for breakfast—of course I’m thinking about the show!! What else is there? What other,’ she stammered, ‘ _Humongous_ opportunity for my _complete and utter humiliation_ is there?’

‘Don’t think like that.’ He rose out of bed and padded his way to where she was, likely about to wear dents into the carpet. ‘You’ve worked hard.’ 

She stopped to turn to him, if only for a moment. ‘I had a nightmare. About tonight. Everything went wrong.’ She resumed pacing. ‘People were booing me off the stage.’

He pulled her into a hug. ‘C’mon.’

He stroked her back while she said, in her smallest voice, on the verge of tears, ‘What if I screw up…?’

‘You won’t. You’ve been practising for weeks and I know for a fact that it’s going to be amazing. I’ve heard your rehearsals through the walls enough to be sure.’

‘Yeah,’ she said off-hand, ‘We still haven’t gotten around to sound-proofing the music room, have we?’ But soon her fears returned in full force at the sudden image of rows of faces behind a velvet curtain. ‘Oh, but the theatre seats over a thousand. And it’s a sold-out show! Oh my God and all those news articles people’ve published… Oh my God, oh my God…’

‘All the better. You’ve accomplished something great and people can see that.’

‘That or it’s the perfect set-up!’ 

‘Fran. Deep breath. You’ve already gotten Frankie the Twenty-Third to sing on live television, this is hardly any different.’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘All that research, the practise. You’ve come so far. This is the day you prove them all wrong.'

‘You think so? How can you be so sure? I mean you’re always so confident about things, that’s who you are, but this is… this is crazy, right? This was an insane pipe dream, there’s no way…’

‘It is crazy. It is. But the fact that you’re scrared out of your wits means you’re doing something worthwhile. You’re the insane person who’s going to make singing frogs a reality. You were right. You always were.’                    

She was being unusually paranoid, anxious. But when she looked into his eyes, she found nothing but the familiar voice of reason who’d been at her side all these years since day one. It only took a second for her to remember what made her go down this crazy path in the first place. ‘Thanks.’ He gave her hand a firm squeeze and she took a breath. ‘You’re right. I am right.’

 

* * *

 

 

It was Sunday and of course Franny was up before him. Though today was a little different, each sequestered to their end of (what was left of) the house. But he knew he’d have to face the music, as Franny herself might put it. May as well do it right now. He sighed, stretching a bit as he made his journey downstairs. He tried not to think too hard about the plastic tarps that billowed in the morning chill where once stood the old observatory walls. His lips tightened at the sight of Laszlo and Tallulah, Band-Aids on their cheeks and elbows, in sleeping bags at the base of the stairs. They were displaced from their bedrooms like refugees. Wilbur was probably running around somewhere, already up. The kids thought of it as an adventure…

After a bit of wandering, he’d finally found her harvesting breakfast in the greenhouse, which, ironically with its glass walls, was perfectly intact. He heard her voice before he saw her. ‘What? Come here to examine your guinea pig?’ she said bitterly behind the carrots.

‘I just wanted to see how the tomatoes were doing,’ he lied, examining the plump, red spheres that lined the æroponic rows of upside-down vines. 

‘They’re fine, thanks.’ She plucked some mushrooms from their pots, carefully dusting the dirt off of them. He could swear he heard her mutter, ‘’Least nothing’s mutated…’ 

‘Franny, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be so—’

‘Dangerous? Humiliating? Generally awful?’ 

‘I thought it would work!’ he said following behind her as she moved about the garden on a hover-platform, crop to crop, picking different things and placing them in her basket. ‘The timing was off; it was supposed to _work_. The cells, they should’ve disappeared… instead of…’ He stammered, failing to find the words. 

‘It’s always something.’ Her hand caught on a branch as she picked apples, she jerked it free with a grimace.

‘Fran, what the Hell do you want? It’s already happened.’ They began to speak at once. ‘Everyone’s okay, that’s what’s important—’

‘Half the house is blown off.’

‘—but you wanna just keep yelling at me? Throw stones in a literal glasshouse?’ He gestured around to the greenhouse’s window panes.

‘No,’ she stepped down from the platform, staring him dead in the eye, ‘I want you to stop. Cornelius this shit keeps happening. You can’t just spring that kind of thing on us, drag your work, not to mention _radiation_ , here and now it’s interfering with mine! I planned that dinner with the producers for months! I’m not your test subject okay?’

‘I never said you were!’

‘You sure act like it. Is a time machine really worth endangering your family? Really?’ With a basket of fresh produce at her hip, she started walking away.

‘The fifth dimension is the final frontier!’ he yelled after her, well-aware that he was shouting by himself, where only the grapes could hear.

 

* * *

 

 

She sat on the roof, overlooking the hills as the sun’s glow began to rise beyond the lake’s horizon. She hugged herself in the chill of the early morn. Without turning around, she heard the sound of a door opening and footsteps coming closer until the window behind her creaked open. Once he’d climbed out to sit next to her, she felt he blanket he placed at her bare shoulders.

‘Hey.’ He offered her a warm mug of coffee. Probably not the way she liked it, she was very particular about her morning brew, but she was sure he’d done his best imitation. She appreciated the gesture.

‘Hey.’ She took the mug in her hands. ‘Thanks.' 

‘Did you sleep?’

‘No.’ She felt the weight of the bags under her eyes.

‘Did you want to talk?’

‘No. Maybe? I…’

‘That’s okay.’

‘I guess… It’s just… It’s silly.’ 

‘What?’

‘You think they’ll live forever. And then they don’t.’

‘It’s not silly.’

‘I feel like a kid again. Waiting for Mom and Dad to come home from work.’ He watched her gaze trail off to her feet and then out beyond to the clouds in the distance. Her usually perfectly coiffed hair was frizzled, strands sicking out here and there. She was barefoot but hadn’t changed out of her simple black dress from yesterday, now worn with wrinkles.  

Cornelius, growing up as an orphan, couldn’t exactly relate. He’d never taken his parents for granted in the way most people, most non-orphans, did. Not for long anyway. Though that didn’t mean that when his own father died it wasn’t a punch to the gut. He searched for the right words. After a stretch of silence, he only managed, ‘It’s hard.' 

‘He was just… a big goofy dad. He was funny. And even though he’d always pretend to be strict, really, he was just a dork.’ She rested her head on her knee. ‘He always tried to be everyone’s friend...’

‘I liked him,’ he said, ‘He could cook a mean ravioli,’ Franny smiled and Neil went on, ‘He was always pretty nice to me. Remember when he kept trying to get me to call him “Dad”?’ They both chuckled at that.

They were at the point when the hard questions began to loom near. Something like this always made a person pause. Cornelius’ mind wandered to a future he couldn’t see. Where Wilbur was in Franny’s place, grieving his father. Or the day either Cornelius or Franny would have to go on without the other. A selfish part of him wished he would pass first. She was strong, she could handle it. Right now, Franny seemed like she was coping. Except that he knew she wasn’t. This was the first time in years that she’d skipped sleep entirely. He wasn’t sure how he could possibly live without either of them, Franny or Wilbur. But one day he might have to. He supposed he would only do what everybody did. Keep moving forward.

But that day had not yet come. He put his arm around Franny’s shoulders, she kept her eyes at her hands, still cupped around her coffee mug. She leaned into him nonetheless. ‘I’m here for you,’ he said. ‘No matter what. If you need anything else. Or if you want me to go…’

‘No. Stay. Sit with me.' 

‘Ok.’

So he did. 

 

* * *

 

The days were getting longer, the sun rising to its apex ever earlier in the morning. They’d take advantage of the rays, soaking up their fair share of vitamin D out in the gardens instead of cooped up inside. There was a bush Lucille and Petunia had carved out long ago, a little, oft-forgotten detail in their grand scheme for the Robinson topiary. It was a three-tiered tree with two stacks of thick, green, bushy circles. At its base, a curved bench connected to a little set of stairs, where at its top was a modest tower of semi-spheres that served as a parasol on clear days. It was their favourite spot to be alone together in the great big house of theirs.

They greeted each other as they passed by in the kitchen on their way out. 

‘Morning.’

‘Morning.’

That same bush would always find them sitting side by side every morning or so, where absent-mindedly, they chatted away while distracted by whatever puzzle lay before them. The wind passed through the tree leaves and the clouds hovered above them at a languid pace.

He with his papers, his equations and blueprints and contracts and a staggering number of emails he’d been putting off. All a tiny part of a bigger picture. His life’s work divvied up into an hour or so every morning. Among other things. She with her puzzle books, Sudoku, a novel, a tablet full of magazine subscriptions. Trivial little hobbies of hers. Small things. 

‘Hey, Fran?’

‘Hm?

‘I’m replying to this email from Phillip Chung from Kai Microsystems. He’s practically begging us to come to that charity gala next spring but we’re already switching over to in-house circuits.’

‘You’re figuring out how to let him down gently?’

‘He’s talking as if we’ve already renewed our contract. Plus, we’ve already said we were busy the last two years. They really can’t take a hint.’

‘Why don’t you just tell him no?’

‘Well _I_ want to, but Harry went on about how we can’t antagonise them too soon or else we run the risk of losing our foothold in the Asian market. And he’s got a point. We can’t afford a new rival now.’

‘Tell him we won’t come unless their caviars are three times more expensive and the chocolate fountains are fair-trade with 99. _9_ % cocoa!’ She smirked but he only rolled his eyes. ‘Okay, okay, fine. Say you’ve gotta double-check with me and I’ll talk to his wife when she comes down to New York next week.’

‘Thanks. I guess that works. They’re so old-fashioned.’

She lowered her glasses to offer him a sly smile. ‘Anytime, pal.’ He chuckled.

The birds, with their fezzes stylishly strapped on, chirped as they flew by. Wilbur ran circles around the topiary as he chased after Laszlo and his antigravity device, meanwhile Bud was sectioning off a part of the yard to excavate yet another pair of lost dentures. Just a normal Saturday at the Robinsons.

Later, crossword spread over her lap, would come her turn to ask him a question. ‘Hey, I’m stuck on this one.’

‘Shoot.’

‘“Old French in origin, a synonym for exultation” Three letters.’ she said.

‘Joy?’

‘That’s it!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Master of None episode of the same name.
> 
> So this took forever because I overthought/overcomplicated it which is an extremely Me problem lol. But it’s a good change of pace, I think. Hope you liked it. Stay tuned for a companion chapter.
> 
> And fun fact: this is the bush they’re sitting on: Williamjoyce.com/images/robinsons/wjhouse1.jpg


	3. Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each day ends on a different note. [F/C; T; 5K]

 

The hotel room was filled with the sounds of giggles, squeaky springs, a headboard knocking into the wall… and two adults jumping on the bed.

Cornelius’ tie hung in the air, obscuring his face with every leap. The skirt of Franny’s lily-white dress billowed as she jumped then twisted around her waist when she fell back onto the mattress.

‘D’you think,’ said Franny, breathless with laughter, ‘That this is what they meant by a “romp in the sac”?’

‘Definitely,’ said Cornelius. ‘By jumping on this bed, we have officially consummated our marriage.’

She laughed but then called out as she knocked into on one of the bedposts and fell to the ground. ‘Woah!’ He stopped to kneel by her side. ‘Y’ok?’

‘Yeah. Just a bruise,’ she said rubbing her head. Faintly, he heard a voice in his head, ‘It’s just a bruise, Lewis.’

He brushed a few strands of her hair out of the way. ‘Lemme kiss it better.’ He gave her a peck on the forehead.

‘Neil!’ She shrieked, giggling. But he kept going, peppering kisses on her nose and on her cheek, on her chin and on her neck, her ear and her collarbone. ‘Neil…’ She sighed. Muscle memory guided her hands to his shirt, fiddling with his buttons.

  
-o-

  
‘I’m right.’

‘You’re stubborn,’ he said across from her at the counter. She thought he liked that about her. Of course, he’d always used the word “bold” instead. Tenacious. Spunky. Unshakable. Not stubborn.

‘I’m not.’ It was childish, but she was too angry to think of something better. She stared back at him in the dim evening blues of the kitchen. They’d been having this fight since they got home from the school.

‘You just can’t handle being wrong.’

‘What I did was protect our son.’

‘Against what? He’s perfectly safe, he goes to school, he goes to the park. All with supervision, mind you. I mean, what more do you want? A goddamn GPS tracker in his ear? Because I think that’s illegal.’

‘Anything could happen, if for some reason, we look away or he gets lost. You don’t know… There are perverts, kidnappers, I don’t know!’

‘Todayland has one of the lowest crime rates in the whole world.’

‘Statistics can be wrong.’ She was standing on a peg-leg and he knew it, but she hated when he used science against her, as if he owned it.

‘Franny. Think back to your childhood. Really think about it. What was the worst possible thing that happened to you?’

‘Other people—’

‘But you, Fran. What’s the worst thing that happened, huh? A pair of bullies call you names? A stranger asked you for the time?’

‘It is a dangerous world out there for a kid, no matter what the—quarterly statistics say.’ Cornelius shook his head, clicking his tongue. ‘All I’m saying is: you can’t fault me for being prepared.’   
  
‘By teaching him black belt karate? He’s only eight.’

‘It’s self-defence.’

‘It’s reckless! You probably scared him more with that paranoid stranger danger crap than you protected him. You can’t shelter him like this.’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t grow up like you, running wild along the streets of New York with no one to look after you.’ He froze. She regretted her words almost instantly. His gaze weighed heavy on her conscience. His mouth mas open, ever so slightly like he was about to say something but he closed it, thinking better of it. He avoided looking at her, sighed and began to walk away. ‘I didn’t mean that. Cornelius. Neil!’ She started running after him and he turned to look down at her from where he stood on the stairwell. ‘I said I—’

‘The point is, Fran, because of you, our son put another kid in the hospital. And now the parents are suing us. Great. Wilbur sure is safe now!’ He turned back to keep walking and she thought better than to follow him.

  
-o-

  
The sun had set and the Robinsons’ respective stomachs were already more than halfway through digesting their dinner. Each of them had retreated back to their own little corner of the house, squeezing out the final hours of the day for that one last thing they had to do before bed. Lefty was already crawling his way back into the lake, Jo’s face was aglow as he plopped himself in front of an infomercial and Wilbur was allowed one, they repeated: one, half-hour of his video game before he had to brush his teeth.

Cornelius, meanwhile, sat at the table by the living room, distractedly twirling his glasses as he shuffled through paperwork. His own One Last Thing was going through transcripts and archives. Evidence. He remembered how excited he was when the company first began, filled with hope and adrenaline, long nights doing actual work. But now, as RI continued to rise in the ranks, its CEO was increasingly stuck with bureaucracy. He grumbled. ‘This is going to take forever…’

‘Mmm,’ said Franny looking over his shoulder. ‘Maybe you should leave it ‘till morning.’

‘Yeah…’

She leaned over to give him that mischievous smirk of hers. ‘Wanna run it off?’

‘Sure.’

He shuffled his papers and tablet into a pile and they went out to the foyer to lace up. It was an odd new normal for them: when Cornelius would join Franny on her nightly jogs. It had begun sometime last year, when Cornelius’ knee nearly broke in a spectacular failure that not only made a real dent in the insurance books, but also in his health. Thankfully, modern medicine was sophisticated enough to bring him to a full recovery but not without a few months’ worth of physical therapy, eventually leading to their regular runs.

The air was crisp and the night’s sky was aglow with the soft neons of the cityscape as they ran side by side. He wasn’t wheezing anymore, pausing to crouch with his hands on his knees to catch his breath, nor was he stopping to wretch. Franny smiled at the memory and then glanced up to see he’d surpassed her by a few feet. She watched as his back faded to the distance, a good few lampposts ahead of her. And it dawned on her.

‘Hey,’ she said, breathless. ‘You’re faster than I am!’

  
-o-

  
It was dark out when she’d rolled over to his side of the bed only to find he wasn’t there. Again. Sure enough, the gap underneath the observatory lab’s door shone with lights turned on inside.

‘Cornelius,’ she said sleepily, coming up behind him where he sat on the drafting table. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder, peering down at the layers of graphs and gear parts on the page before them. ‘What’re you doing?’

‘I’m almost done the prints.’

She kissed him on the neck, her voice muffled, ‘Come back to bed.’

‘I can’t,’ he said leaning away from her.

‘You can finish that tomorrow,’ she whined.

‘Fran…’

‘You’re not tempted by the thought of a nice warm bed? Where you can just lie still and not think about math?’

‘I just have this one thing.’

Franny pulled away, weariness replaced tenderness. ‘That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before that.’

‘I know, I know. This will be real quick.’

‘I’m not falling for that.’

‘No, I really mean it this time. One more hour, tops.’

‘You can’t be serious. You have work tomorrow. How are you going to manage this all day and all night?’

‘Fran. I just. I can’t talk right now, okay? I’m on a breakthrough, here.’

‘Well I’m at my wit’s end.’

‘I promise, after this is done—’

‘No, it’s always something else after that.’

‘Really, I swear.’

She rounded the table, put her hand over the blueprint and leaned as she hissed, ‘It’s been seven days.’

‘It’s just this one thing.’

‘Wilbur hasn’t seen his father for a week. And it’s not because you’re out of town, it’s because you’ve holed yourself up here. Don’t you feel bad about that?’

‘That’s not true, just the other day, he came up here to do his homework.’

‘Really?’ She crossed her arms, head tilted. ‘You’re going to play dumb?’

‘I just mean it’s not as bad as it looks.’

‘Sitting around with his colouring books while you work yourself into a frenzy isn’t a childhood. And what about me, huh? We’ve barely talked ever since you started this stupid thing.’

‘It’s not stupid.’

‘It’s a time machine!’ she spat. ‘Which is not only impossible, but technically useless. You’re really gonna have investors lining up for what sounds like a Disneyland rollercoaster?’

‘I can’t explain now, but it’s important.’

‘We’re important, Neil. Your family? Remember those nice people who also happen to live here?’

‘Fran…’ His responses were half-assed and they both knew it. Too impatient to get back to his measurements and calculations to bother. Franny wondered, then, why she did either.

‘And what about what this is doing to your health?’

‘I’m perfectly fine.’

‘Yeah, try looking in a mirror.’

‘It’s only temporary until I’m done!’

‘But when will you be done?’

‘Ok. Fine.’ He said, passive aggressively. He held his hands up like he was at gunpoint. ‘I’m stopping. I’m closing up shop! That make you happy?’

‘No. If you wanna keep doing this, that’s your prerogative.’

‘I just said I’d stop.’

‘We both know you don’t want to.’

‘Don’t be like this.’

‘You’re the one who’s “being like this”, ok? You’re the one who’s stuck in here, wasting precious hours of our son’s childhood doing…’ she stammered, ‘Whatever the Hell this is. I don’t want to force you; you should already know how insane you’re acting.’

She made to walk out but he ran up in front of her. ‘Franny! C’mon. I know it’s been a little… hectic…’

‘“Hectic”?’

‘But I’ll make it up to you.’

‘No. I don’t want to hear it.’ She pushed past him. ‘I don’t believe anything you say anymore.’ It wasn’t frustration, it was disgust. She threw her hands up. She was already on her way down the stairs when she called out, ‘Go die of exhaustion for all I care!’

‘Franny…’ But she’d already left. The door slammed shut.

Left alone, a heavy feeling settled in his gut.

But it passed. With her gone, he soon returned to his diagrams, all thoughts of sleep forgotten.

  
-o-

  
Sharp winds made their clothes billow as he guided the ship across the waters. Franny brushed her hand against the splashing waves. The sun was slowly kissing the horizon of the lake, reflecting glimmers of orange.

He stopped the hovercar in the middle of the lake. It sat there, perfectly still, casting a shadow on the waves a good few feet below. They sat at its edge, overlooking the sleek waters.

‘Oh my God,’ she said extending a toe into the water, ‘It’s so cold!’

‘Yeah?’

‘It’s icy. No way I’m going in there!’

‘Hey what’s that?’ He put one arm around her shoulders while the other pointed into the water.

‘What?’ Her head whipped around.

‘That fish! It’s got one eye!’

‘Where? I don’t see it.’

‘Right there!’ She leaned closer. He pushed her over the edge.

‘Ah! Motherf—’ She shrieked before she disappeared beneath the water’s surface with a white splash. The ripples slowly faded back into smooth waves. She didn’t resurface.

‘Franny? Franny?’ He started to worry when suddenly a freckled arm came out and pulled him by the waist of his shorts. ‘H—Ack!’ He fell in too, relishing in that split-second in mid-air when he was perfectly dry before his whole world went underwater.

His breath turned to bubbles, tickling his skin, his vision started to blur and his glasses floated away from his face until he caught them with his hand. He came up for air, smiling at Franny’s slicked-back hair.

She splashed him in the face. ‘Now we’re even,’ she said. They bobbed up and down with the rhythm of the waves as they moved their hands and feet around to keep afloat. They were giddy with adrenaline from being submerged in the sub-zero lake. He was too busy watching the freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose to notice the deep purples of the setting sun.

  
-o-

  
He found her where he’d left her nearly twelve hours ago, hunched over a microscope in the gene lab. He knocked on the open door but Franny didn’t move an inch. Too engrossed in a new development on the frogs, probably. He walked up to her and gently put a hand to her shoulder.

Startled, she jerked around. ‘Oh! Hey.’

‘Hey. I put Wilbur to bed. That kid never sleeps.’

‘Mmm?’

‘I can’t tell if he gets it from you or me.’

‘Uh huh…’ she said, still distracted until she looked up to find the sky out the window was black. ‘Oh my God. I didn’t even realise it’d already gotten dark out. Have I really been in here all day?’

‘Yep.’

‘Sorry.’ She felt guilty. She felt like him.

‘It’s fine. It happens. Time flies when you’ve got your nose in a microscope.’

‘Yeah…’ She was sure he could relate. ‘You’re not gonna yell at me?’ This peculiar role-reversal was not beyond Franny’s notice. She’d started fights with him over much less…

‘No. Actually, I thought you’d want some company.’ He pulled up a chair and sat across from her. He opened up a book she only now noticed he was holding, to a page that had been marked with a dog ear. He sat far enough so as not to be a bother, close enough to qualify as some quality “bonding” time.

‘Ok,’ said Franny, a little suspicious but not about to argue. She turned back to her microscope while Cornelius turned a page.

  
-o-

 

He was half-awake. Sleepily enjoying the view of the tree-leaves as they moved in tune with the breeze. It was dark out. Quiet and blue. His thoughts slowed to a pace that could almost be called tranquil. He liked the feeling of Franny’s breath on his shoulder, her exhales tickling his skin. The whistle of wind and rain outside as he could feel the wrinkle of the sheets beneath him. Only calm existed.

Until it was abruptly interrupted.

‘Mooooom…. Daaaaad…’ said a voice behind the door out in the hall. Cornelius was only beginning to get used to Wilbur’s prepubescent voice, small and round, a little nasally. It would be years before the Wilbur he first met grew into his future self’s shoes.

He took a breath and gathered himself to sit up. Wilbur’s sobs were still audible from outside. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’ When finally, he rose to answer Wilbur’s pleas, he couldn’t help but melt at the sight before him. Wilbur’s eyes were puffy and tear-stained, his lip quivered and a hand absent-mindedly dragged a stuffed animal across the floor. Cornelius crouched down to his eye level, ‘Hey, hey. What’s wrong?’

‘I had a-a bad dream…’ he sniffed.

‘You had a nightmare? I take it cookies and horror movies aren’t a good combination, huh?’ Wilbur looked to him wide-eyed, not knowing how to respond to that. ‘You wanna talk about it? Your dream?’

Instead of answering, his gaze wandered over to the bed were Franny was snoring softly, turning over in her sleep. ‘Can I sleep with you an’ Mom tonight?’

Cornelius sighed. ‘Again?’ This had become a habit of Wilbur’s and they would soon have to have some new rules about movie night. But, never one to deny his son anything, Cornelius opened the door a little wider to let Wilbur in. ‘Don’t wake Mom up,’ he whispered.

Soon enough though, Mom would awaken to Wilbur’s sobs. ‘Shhh, shhh. Honey, it’s ok. Mom’s here. It’s ok.’

‘It’s so scary…’

‘It’s not real though,’ said Cornelius. ‘You know that? Movies are just pretend.’

‘I know that! It’s still scary!’ He started to cry again.

‘Ok, ok, shhhh shhhh,’ said Franny, to Cornelius she added, ‘Maybe it’s best not to question his intelligence.’

‘I didn’t.’ He looked back down at Wilbur. ‘Wilbur, we’re here, alright? Don’t think about that. Just think about something else.’

He sniffed, then hiccupped. ‘Like what?’

‘Why don’t you try counting backwards from one hundred? Sometimes that helps.’

‘O-one hundred,’ he started, shuddering sobs steading to a normal voice, ‘Ninety-nine…’ By seventy-seven he’d quieted to a whisper, his eyes began to close by sixty-four and he couldn’t even say forty before he started to drift off.

‘Ok, good,’ whispered Cornelius. ‘It’s working.’

Quiet had once again settled upon the three of them, now readying for sleep. But when Wilbur’s eyes flickered open once again, he had an urge to have a question answered. Right now.

‘Hey, Dad?’

Cornelius yawned. ‘Yeah?’

‘Is it true, that in Australia, their toilets flush the other way?’

‘I can see someone’s feeling better,’ he mumbled, head still nestled into his pillow.

‘But you didn’t answer my question. And what about kangaroos?’ Wilbur sat up, ‘Are they—’

‘Wilbur,’ interrupted Franny, ‘You have to sleep now, ok? You have school tomorrow.’

‘Ok…’ He lied back down.

‘Kay,’ she said. ‘G’night.’ Franny gave him a peck on the cheek and settled herself into the sheets.

When Wilbur was finally asleep, they began to whisper, their son snoring quietly between them.

‘Was it Gaston’s movie collection again?’ said Franny.

Cornelius nodded. ‘The Babadook.’

‘I’m gonna kill him.’ Gaston was a good uncle to Wilbur where it counted, but sometimes his bachelor life and reckless attitude tended to rub off on Wilbur in ways that worried his parents. They would deal with him later, tonight only concerning themselves with Wilbur’s overactive imagination that conjured apparitions of an Australian boogieman under the bed.  
  
‘It’s a shame,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ve heard that one made great strides for LGBT representation in cinema.’

Franny rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t act like you know anything about film. The only Criterion movie you’ve ever seen is Do the Right Thing.’

He smiled. ‘Not true. I also saw RoboCop.’

She smirked, then yawned, ‘Should we call the school again?’

‘Nah.’ He looked down at Wilbur, the rise and fall of his little chest, the slight flutter of his eyes beneath his eyelids. He stroked the boy’s cheek with his finger, always in awe of how small he was. ‘He’s out like a light. I think he’ll be fine by morning.’

‘No more candy after dinner,’ said Franny, flipping her pillow and turning on her side.

‘Agreed,’ he said.

And as he began to doze off himself, he couldn’t help but smile at their little family of three, all curled up in the blankets together.

  
-o-

  
The bed was cold and she couldn’t sleep. She leaned over to check the time on her phone. 2:00 AM. She lied back. Without so much as a glance, she knew he wouldn’t be at her side. He was up in the lab or down in the garage or who-knows-where doing who-knows-what. As Wilbur grew older, more perceptive to his father’s work habits, Cornelius tried harder to hide them. He squeezed all his hours in the lab at night while the family was sleeping, pushing himself harder during the day at work so he could come home when Wilbur had finished school. He was running himself ragged. She missed him.

Well, tough, she thought, because now she could finally sleep diagonally across the bed.

  
-o-

  
They sat in the bright blue and white upholstery of the monorail. Normally they’d take one of the cars, but tonight they’d both felt a little spontaneous. Tonight, they were pedestrians.

Their section of the train was nearly empty, and save for a couple of passer-by’s who did a double-take, no one noticed them. They could sit there comfortably, watching the blur of the glowing cityscape out the window that contrasted the fluorescent rows of seats before them.

Of course, they both knew this had the added benefit for Cornelius, who wanted to double-check that RI’s tweaks on the monorail were working smoothly. He was a perfectionist; he couldn’t help it. It was what Franny both loved and hated about him.

That evening, a friend of theirs, Kendra, was having her book launch party at a local bar. It was called Nucleus and Sugar Cubes, a little series of anecdotes about her life, from the time she tripped and fell on a Lego and ended up at the ER with a marble down her oesophagus at thirteen, to all the weirdness of working with Robinson Industries’ founders as they built the company from the ground up. It was a heartfelt collection, and surprisingly funny. Cornelius never knew his friend of nearly twenty years, who majored in nuclear physics, could write so well. It was a good opportunity to catch up with old faces.

Next to him, on their way home, Franny was talking herself into tangent after tangent. ‘Was Harry always that fat? I never noticed that second ear piercing on Gwen’s ear. I think Lizzie got a haircut. Can you believe she’s had a baby? She looks so good!’ She was still excited, bubbling, ebullient after a night out without any babytalk. He loved the sound of her voice, those raspy highs and lows. He thought he could listen to her talk forever. ‘Oh, I haven’t told you about…’ Except he couldn’t. He was too tired.

‘The producers were all staring at me like I was insane and I thought they were gonna kick me out but then they started clapping. And then Mileva said they might be able to get started as soon as next Thursday. Can you believe it?’ She nudged him, looking down at his head as it drooped to rest on her shoulder only to jerk back up momentarily when the train made a turn. Playfully, she said, ‘You aren’t listening to a word I say, are you?’

‘M’sorry. I’m just—’ he yawned, ‘—tired.’ His paternity leave was long-over and dividing himself between Wilbur and Robinson Industries had worn him thin. He leaned his head on her shoulder, staggering a bit as they walked out through the automatic doors.

‘C’mon,’ she said wrapping her arm ‘round his waist, ‘It’s getting late.’ They stepped into purple skies, amidst dancing snowflakes, as they walked home.

  
-o-

  
‘Whew,’ said Franny, heels clacking against the floors as she came into the living room. ‘Had to help Lefty with the dishes. The washer was acting up.’ She leaned against the armrest of the chair Cornelius was sitting on.

He looked up from his tablet where he’d been checking his e-mails. ‘Oh, didja need any help?’

‘No, I think we’re good. You can rest easy, Mr Fix It.’ He smiled at the moniker. ‘Hey. Has Wilbur ever brought a friend over before? Ever?’ Earlier today Wilbur had introduced the family to his new friend from school, Seth.

‘I can think of a few times,’ said Cornelius.

‘You don’t count.’

‘No, what about Ian? And Cindy? Sam’s been here a handful of times...’

‘Yeah, but Sam and Ian are our friends’ kids. And Cindy was for a science project seven years ago. She didn’t seem like she wanted to be here. This one feels… different,’ said Franny. ‘Like they’re closer.’

‘You don’t think…?’

Franny leaned closer, speaking in an excited whisper, ‘I could swear I saw them holding hands under the dinner table.’

‘Really?’ he said. She nodded. ‘You know, I like him. His first reaction when he saw Lefty, instead of running away, was to ask if he spoke Spanish.’

‘I can’t believe this, before now, I didn’t even know Seth existed! He doesn’t tell us anything anymore.’

‘Maybe we should tell them to leave the door open.’

‘You’re right… It’s been eerily… quiet in his room.’

Moments later, the door to Wilbur’s room slid open to reveal Franny and Cornelius peering in from the hallway.

‘Mom! Dad! What’re you doing?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ said Franny innocently.

‘Just checking up on you guys,’ said Cornelius.

‘Well, stop. We’re fine.’ He pulled off the pissed-off teenager look quite well from where he sat on his beanbag chair. But they could see, peering closer beyond the doorway that Seth was sitting dangerously close, his feet propped up on Wilbur’s knees, as if, moments before they came in, he sat on Wilbur’s lap.

‘You know,’ said Cornelius, ‘When your mother and I—’

‘Ew! Stop!’

‘No, not “ew”. I was just going to say we were only a few years older than you two when we started dating.’

‘Whatever. It’s nothing. We’re studying, ok?’

‘Since when do you study?’

‘Since now.’

‘Sure you are,’ Cornelius nodded with a sarcastic smirk.

‘We are!’

‘Wilbur, honey,’ said Franny, ‘If you need it, there are turtlenecks in the closet.’

‘What?’

‘You know, for tomorrow. When you go to school with a hickey.’

He blushed, cheeks red as tomatoes. ‘Mo-om!’

‘All right, all right we’re leaving. But don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’ she said in a sing-song voice as she and Cornelius started backing out into the hall.

‘Mom…’

‘We can pay for the wedding!’

‘Dad!’ Cornelius merely gave him a thumbs-up before Wilbur got up in a huff to force the automatic door shut in their faces.

‘Ah, young love,’ said Cornelius as they walked out in the hall.

‘Were we ever that secretive?’ said Franny. They made their way toward the kitchen, passing the statues in the corridor.

‘I don’t think so. You moved in like almost a year later. And then we got engaged.’

‘Yeah, it was pretty fast… Can you imagine us as someone’s in-laws?’

‘Oh God,’ said Cornelius. ‘Now I feel old.’

‘We’re going to make the coolest in-laws.’

‘That’s what everyone says before they become the lamest in-laws and our future son-in-law over there starts blocking our calls.’

‘Probably,’ smiled Franny. She paused and leaned against the wall. ‘We were way older than he is when we started dating.’

‘Yeah, I remember. I just wanted to bug him.’

Franny snorted, ‘I think it worked.’ Then she sighed, still leaning on the wall she turned to him, ‘I did have the biggest crush on you back then, though.’

‘Really?’ he said in mock surprise. ‘I couldn’t tell.’

‘Stop,’ she teased.

‘I have the bruises to prove it.’

‘I was so clumsy around you. You were nice to me...’

‘Not really,’ he shrugged. ‘I was kind of a jerk.’

‘You were busy.’

‘Sure, let’s go with that.’

‘Well, I was kind of clingy,’ she cocked her head but looked up to him with a soft smile, ‘So I guess we’re even.’

‘Mmmm…So, do you think you still have a crush on me?’ he said.

‘Huh. I’ll have to think about it. I’d say so… You? D’you…’ she said casually, fiddling with his tie before looking up at him with round eyes ‘…still have a crush on me?’

He leaned closer. ‘Hmmm…’ With a soft touch, he guided some of her loose hairs and tucked them behind her ear. ‘Yeah. I think so too.’

Her lips spread into a grin while her hand wandered up to the back of his neck. He cupped her chin and she had her elbows propped casually on his shoulders as they kissed.

‘Ew!’ Startled, they parted just enough to see their son’s shocked face, contorted in disgust. Seth stood awkwardly next to Wilbur as he yelled, ‘In the middle of the hallway? Seriously!?’

‘Wilbur, go back to studying,’ said Cornelius.

‘Yeah, we’re a little busy right now,’ said Franny.

‘GROSS!’ he called as he started walking away, shielding his eyes with a free hand while the other held his dirty dishes. ‘You guys are shameless!’

‘Hey, that may be,’ called Cornelius, ‘but you wouldn’t exist otherwise!’

‘VERY GROSS!’ Wilbur threw his arm over Seth’s shoulder, guiding him towards the kitchen. ‘C’mon, Seth. Let’s get out of here. It’s not safe.’

‘I think it’s cute your parents still flirt with each other.’

‘Traitor.’

‘Wilbur!’ yelled Franny. ‘Don’t forget to put the dishes in the right way!’ She struggled to speak against her own laughter, ‘The washer’s being finicky and if it makes a mess, your father and I’ll probably be too preoccupied to clean it up tonight!’

‘LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!’

Franny was grinning against Cornelius’ shoulder. ‘The coolest in-laws,’ she whispered.

  
-o-

  
‘Wilbur’s not going to see the light of day for a long time,’ she said, interrupting their silence, looking around at their zany garden.

They stared, side by side, sitting on their favourite topiary bush as the sun set. A few metres away lied the broken glass of their dining room window, the one a dinosaur burst through not a few hours ago. (Thirty years ago for him.)

She spoke again. ‘It’s just… weird. But… It makes sense.’

‘What does?’

‘That it was you! The whole time!’ She laughed. ‘You’ve known. About everything. This whole time. It makes so much sense now.’ Memories flooded her mind. The way he talked about the future, his inventions. The little jokes he made about what Wilbur would be like when their son was only just born. His confidence, his certainty about so many things that turned out to be true, it seemed like a clairvoyance he’d gained in a deal with the devil.   
  
‘It was a pretty big secret to hold onto all those years.’ She heard the smile in his voice.

‘I’ll bet,’ she said simply and after a moment’s pause, ‘I am sorry about what I said to Lewis, though. I never would’ve… If I’d known.’

‘Don’t be. I’m sure he got over it pretty quickly.’  
  
Nervous laughter faded as they watched the sun slowly creep below the horizon. They’d sat in companionable silence like that for hours, holding each other close as if to assure the other that they were real.

She leaned into his shoulder, looking out at the dull purples and reds of the sky reflected onto the perfectly manicured rolling hills of the Robinson property. She tried to put the images of death and destruction, the lingering feelings of guilt, the urge to lock her son in a vault… out of her mind.

Not far from where they sat were the teacup bushes where she’d last seen Lewis run away. He’d been on the verge of tears.

She looked to his present-self, the glow of the cityscape reflected in his glasses. He was older now, calm, confident, the family’s voice of reason she’d married all those years ago. Yet he seemed tired and worried and sad… She knew she would find out about his trip in time, when he was ready to talk. Still. She worried.

Across her forehead, still bruised, he brushed one of his fingers. ‘I’m here. It’s ok… It’s ok,’ he said.

And it was, thought Franny. He was home.

  
-o-

 

Quietly, he pressed a button and their bedroom door slid open. The light in the hall flooded into the room, just enough for him to see Franny’s sleeping form. She lay there diagonally across the bed, still dressed in her normal clothes, feet hanging off the side with her heels on. She wasn’t even under the covers, instead laying on top, like she’d tripped and fell and didn’t bother to get up. She looked as tired as he felt.

In the corner of the room was a pile of sheet music. He knew Franny had spent the last few days rehearsing nonstop for the show she was headlining at the Music Box Theatre. Meanwhile, at RI, they’d been busy reconstructing the entire European railway system so it was compatible with the new bubble engines. And of course, their duties as parents didn’t stop either: Wilbur had fallen out of tree and broke his wrist, broke one of Laszlo’s canvases and, miraculously, lost another pair of his shoes. All in all, an exhausting week for the both of them.

He loosened his tie and laid down next to her, kicking his shoes off. ‘Mmmm…’ she mumbled as she scooted over to make room for him. He heard the clack of her heels as they fell to the floor. They had so little energy, they were to the point where everything, weighed heavy with sleep deprivation, was comfortable. They sunk into their REM cycles, vaguely aware of the soft blankets beneath them and the deep blues from the window.

‘Long day?’ he said.

‘Yeah. You?’

‘Same.’

They sighed and let the distant sound of birds and wind outside fill the room.

‘Night.’

‘Night.’

  
\-----------------

  
A/N

Worldbuilding spec: I’m wondering if hovercars would threaten to make boats obsolete?

 


End file.
